


Never meddle with my thoughts

by queen_kumquat



Category: The Marlows - Antonia Forest
Genre: Period-Typical Homophobia, attic term
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_kumquat/pseuds/queen_kumquat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set just before the Attic Term carol service, Miranda and Tim have an argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never meddle with my thoughts

Miranda, mildly grumpy after a music exam that hadn't gone as smoothly as she'd confidently expected, and feeling ill-inclined to starting to tackle her holiday essay 'comparing and contrasting' Hardy's tedious poems, slipped into the common room to see what was on TV. Tennis, presumably the Australian Open, with the audience of some twenty girls paying varying amounts of attention.

 

"Who's playing?"

 

"Navratilova versus Jo Durie. First set; five games all." Elaine Rees updated her succinctly.

 

Miranda nodded her thanks and plonked herself down on a large beanbag, forcing Pomona to shuffle sideways. "Sorry, Pippin, didn't mean to squash you," she remarked, cheerful in the knowledge that anyone occupying a whole beanbag deserved to be shoved over, according to the Fourths' unwritten seating code. Tim and Lawrie sprawled on the other one, presumably back from their shopping expedition.

 

"Who're you supporting?" Pomona asked absently, as the set went to a tie-break.

 

Miranda replied without thinking, "Oh, Navratilova. Always liked her." Eastern European roots, always the unloved outsider fiddling with her glasses; Miranda felt drawn to that, forgetting for a moment that the expected answer would be the British underdog.

 

The room suddenly felt more silent than Durie's attempt to second-serve merited. It was broken by the Essex tones of Wendy Tredgold remarking "S'pose you _would_ ," just as a general mutter of "But you _can't_..." arose from a pile of cushions, the large sofa, and a cluster of Upper IV. B tennis lovers.

 

Miranda steeled herself; public opinion was clearly against her. Bloody mobs and their stupid ideas. Time to be a brave eccentric _again._ She thought of her absent role-model - _Jan_ wouldn't have any problem supporting whomever she liked - but thinking of Jan was dangerous. Risk of tears. She managed a calm, Jan-like, light and disinterested tone: "And what's wrong with supporting Martina Navratilova? She's won what, five Wimbledons and a bunch of other Slams so far?"

 

The sofa remained quiet - Upper IV. B and the few Tutorial Fifths present didn't want to argue with the sharp-tongued Miranda, though they muttered in support when Maggie Sutton said it: "But she's a lesbian!"

 

"What, _really_?" It wasn't often people saw Miranda taken aback, but clearly Miranda _hadn't_ known that. She pulled herself together. "So what? I think she's the best player, so I'm supporting her." Miranda fixed her eyes onto the screen.

 

While a muttered "Eugh!" arose from the IV.B contingent, too quiet for anyone to accuse any rabbit-brained individual of making the noise, Tim looked up at Miranda from behind Lawrie, as if impressed by a small child reaching a conclusion for itself, clearly approving. Miranda was puzzled - if Tim was pleased, why wasn't she _saying_ anything?

 

"But you _can't_ support her!"

Miranda would have assumed this voice ploughing headlong into an awkward moment was Lawrie, only Lawrie was staying uncharacteristically silent, and the sound came from at least two sides of the room.

 

"Can too. _Am_ doing. Oh, _look_ at that backhand slice! Nice work!" Miranda returned to the tennis, trying hard to ignore any conversation occurring among IV.B. halfwits.

 

"Ah well, you'll need someone to run after now Jan's left," commented some wag on their sofa.

One of the IV.B. crowd responded, "No wonder Jan was left out of things - didn't want her corrupting the juniors."

 

Miranda took a moment to comprehend this, and then was more furious than she had been in years. "How _dare_ you! You disgusting little objects!"

 

"Keep your hair on," interrupted Tim, aggravatingly. "You and Jan were an open secret!"

 

" _What_??"

 

"Still writing to her, aren't you?" Wendy said nastily. "We've all seen you getting letters that you grab at, _ever_ so happy, know what I mean, like?"

 

"But... She - Jan's a _friend_. An older _friend_. " The Fourths pulled chins and muttered, more for comic effect than actual disbelief, though Tim and some IV.B. nitwits were still looking sceptical. " _Just. A. Friend._ For god's sake, I wanted to be her when I was little and carried on liking her, that's all. Strewth, _will_ all of you get your minds out of the gutter! Especially _you_ , Tim. I thought you'd know me better than that. _And_ Jan." Miranda was truly fuming, mostly for the aspersions on Jan's character.

 

Tim, caught on the spot, muttered "was the obvious answer, was'n'it?" and made no move to apologise.

 

And then Miranda understood Tim's initial glance at her. _She'd_ thought their camaraderie that term was from sharing half-term and their plans for their performance, plus both of them looking at Kingscote from an unusual perspective, Miranda being Jewish and excluded from events, Tim being Miss Keith's niece and growing up hearing all sorts of things, both always stepped around all ever-so-carefully by the Staff. But clearly _Tim_ was thinking they were both outsiders for a different reason and jumping to conclusions about Jan, too. Still raging, Miranda retorted, "Wouldn't be your type even if I was. You stick to pretending you just want to be Lawrie's friend, encouraging all that dramatic hugging and kissing..." Miranda made a sarcastic ' _Mwah! Mwah_! _Darling!_ '. Is she _really_ your friend or just a handy cover?"

 

Tim, face burning and having wriggled in the bean bag as to be almost hidden under Lawrie, was silent. So were most of the Fourths and Tut. Fifths, as the umpire on the TV stated, "Game, Miss Navratilova."

 

Lawrie could never handle an oppressive silence - she said they made her guts crawly – so, as usual, leapt to fill it. "Tim _is_ just my friend. _I'm_ not gay." Later, when Tim asked Lawrie why she'd outed her, Lawrie, oblivious to all subtext, objected she _hadn't_. And Tim couldn't stop being friends with her because then people would make it _worse_.

 

At that moment, Tim longed to run out of the room and cry, but couldn't because she'd rather people be disgusted by her than sorry for her, and anyway, bean bags were a bitch for getting out of - a dignified exit was impossible even if she hadn't been enjoying Lawrie's warmth lying across her. _And_ the tennis.

 

"Always have to be different, don't you, Tim," commented Berenice, intended for cheekily rather than nastily, but in retrospect it hadn't sounded that way.

 

"Oi!" Pomona's voice, for once louder than Berenice's, startled them all. "Tim's one of _our_ great eccentrics, and don't you forget it. Any idiot having a problem with her can push _right_ off. Probably to Junior Side where they still think gay lurgy is funny. Now _shut up_ and let me watch the tennis." U.IV.A nodded and murmured agreement, while the others shuffled their feet a bit.

 

Miranda checked her watch. "Actually, it's tea and then getting ready for the performance, in five minutes. I'm going now," and wriggled off her bean bag, which Pippin's bulk held much more firmly than Tim and Lawrie's equivalent. She exited the room in great relief - it wasn't as if the nature of her feelings for Jan hadn't been a subject she'd mulled over for ages, and in fact it _had_ been a recent relief to her when Jan had mentioned a boyfriend in a letter and Miranda's reaction had been pleasure for Jan and a total absence of jealousy for herself. And Tim - well, thinking about it, that couldn't _really_ be a surprise to anyone, even if one _did_ rather expect lesbians to be sporty wannabe-PE teacher types. Like Redmond, thought Miranda, suddenly amused and speculative. Tim's aversion to anything approaching sports would be a _right_ let-down.

 

"Tie break and first set, Miss Navratilova," stated the umpire placidly.

 

"Happy now, Tim?" asked Wendy, as they all resignedly scraped themselves up for tea, followed by getting changed for the service.

 

Tim raised an eyebrow and managed what she hoped was a haughty look, as she tilted her head back to look down her nose at the smirking mascara'd face. "Hardly. Chris Evert's _much_ more my type," she replied, citing the only other tennis player she could confidently name. She grabbed Lawrie's arm to overtake the IV. B. idiots, who seemed to be dithering even more than usual. The result of sharing one brain cell, IV. A. usually concluded. Tim had been nervous about the forthcoming performance, but now found herself actively looking forward to it. _Bless_ Pippin for her comments - people _listened_ to Pippin nowadays - they'd never _believe_ how annoying she'd been before she'd come to Kingscote! Maybe Aunt Edith had been good for someone, at least, after all?

 

It was only after the Latimer had critcised the three indistinct notes, and Nicola had stammered an explanation, that it dawned on Tim why Nicola had been so silently furious about being accused of fluffing it. _Drat_ Esther! There was someone that _didn't_ seem to be improving. In fact, mused Tim, if Esther hadn't been so stunningly beautiful, she'd probably be assumed to be as drippish as Marie-bloody-Dobson.

 

Nicola, distracted by Esther's flap, and trying to keep a low profile after all the Conduct Mark hu-ha, didn't notice Miranda and Tim failing to speak after the Carol Service. By the following term, Tim and Miranda were back to their usual slightly-prickly terms of best-friends-of-different-twins, so it wasn't until their last term in Upper Sixth, when Nicola walked in on Tim and Esther, that she realised Tim wasn't straight.

 

"Aren't you slow," said Lawrie smugly, helping herself to a discombobulated Nicola's bubble bath. "Everyone's known that for _years_!"

 


End file.
